The tribes of the south had always been strange to the clans of the north. Not just for the green skin, not just for the way their druids were about blood and the hunt, while the shamans were about healing and strength of the land.

But also because from the outside they seemed so unorganised. The north was led by the three, once four, big clan banners and their Chieftains. The Frostsong Clan, the Bladespire Nomads, and the Bladeland Warriors. Many families, in some cases even small subclans, belonged to each of those and followed their chieftains in days of drought and battle. And their Chieftains, followed the Khan, the Chieftain of Chieftains and his mighty riders of grand Karn’Arak, in the Dragon’s forgotten name.

The south however, had never been ruled by one, or few. Instead it had always been a land of many tribes. Sure those tribes had their own chieftains and druids, but not only could they change with the day, they also only ever led but one small tribe. One small village.

To Rika and Kazzok even that village was distant, as their home in the Oak had been quite far from it. Now, it was burned. The village still stood, but they knew if the Khan was to seek war, he would attack the pines first, for the Frostsong and the orcs of the Bristlepine forest had sought each other's blood even more than other clans. It was the only place where no mountain or ashen waste made a line, between north and south. Just the forest itself and even that was easy to dare for either side. At least now, that they had lost his protection. But the blood price he demanded of them was too high to pay, and what orc would ever allow their enemies to be taken by a different force than themselves?

The days since they saw their home in flames had been long for many reasons, and Rika had felt every second of them in their terrible endless entirety. She had cursed to herself many times, not only for the battle she lost, but all that was lost alongside it. Her arm, her home and Kara. She went through it all in her mind, how she could have beaten him, the brother of Mara, the darkling who they called the beast. Yet she never came to an answer. And even when she was close to one, what did it matter now? Even if they would fight again, she had lost an arm and lost back when she had both. What hope of victory would there be now?

The day after the battle of the oak she still tried to tell herself that she could learn to fight with but one hand. She could use a tomahawk instead of her sword, she could throw spears instead of using a bow. But then the days slowly forced the new reality into her. It was hard enough to even bind the leather over her chest together. To even set her pants right without aid, and she was still too proud to ask for it. Once they had started their journey to the savanna she was glad that she rode on Branak, because at least her pants would stay in place despite the band she had to do with but one hand. Her chest she hid behind some of her wolf pelt, just in case the knot would not hold.

The heat of shame was burning inside her for it all. Shame of losing her home, shame before the rest of their party and her lose attire, and shame before Kazzok and how much he had to aid her now. Every dusk and dawn he made sure to look at her wound, to clean it and refresh the salve and leaf made bandages on it. He always asked if it hurt and she always pretended it was fine, while in reality it felt like a thousand ants would bite at her stump. Over the days of their ride south she often felt an itch in muscles that were now rotting near their oak, muscles she lost and would never feel again. Like the nonexistent ants on her stump it ganwed on her mind with a thousand tiny bites.

Whenever she settled on Branak she instinctively tried to use both her hands just to realise there was only one, and almost fell, day after day, morning after morning. All of it a constant reminder of her lost fight. A stain on her honour, yet she slowly realised how it was far more than lost honour. She tried to hide it all, to remain the proud warrior and daughter Rakkan and the oak. Yet how could one hide what was lost?

It didn’t help when they arrived in the savanna, for the shadows of the trees aided her hiding. Still they moved on, and into the warm and dry glades. Other parties started to appear from the forests, other villages from the bristlepines that had been informed by the farstriders. So their party grew more and more, and soon someone questioned her.

“Why the pelt in these warm lands, huntress?” A hunter from another village asked.

She huffed at the question, huffed away the mortification that question alone brought her. After she regained some composure she laughed it off. “Just to protect the wound. Its still fresh and I want to fight soon again!” Her words were spoken in false pride but even that was shattered as she saw Kazzok from afar. His eyes knowing and with a glint of pity in them.

“I scout ahead.” She said and quickly rode ahead, to hide her shame in the big wide open plains of dried grass and distant rivers. Away from their party she huffed a few times, tried to get strength, tried to get the ants out of her head and her arm, but it was no use. She closed her eyes and tried to feel. The warm breeze of these lands gave her mind some rest and the distant sound of bear-lions and bat-hyenas brought memories of long forgotten hunts to her mind.

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She never visited the savanna often but always adored its warmth and far distant horizons. Her father always said you could always see at dawn who you might meet at dusk. When they came here it was for similar meetings as this and in the far distance the mesa that was their goal already shadowed as a single spot over the grand horizon. A cliff right in the centre of the wide openness where the chieftains and druids would meet in times of need.

She came back to camp late at evening, when the sun was already going down, so no one would see her clearly.

Her sleep was uneasy as it often was since the battle and she had planned to leave just as early and in the shadow of early morning when she saw how Mara left the tent. She followed her with a hunters step and decided to stay silent until she saw the knife the shaman was about to set to her veins.

Then she spoke and did her best. She never felt as if words were her strength but she had learned from her father what she could. It was hard to remain her composure, for every word the darkling shaman said filled her with both sorrow and anger. The thought of dying had crossed her mind too, yet if she would it was in battle. And even then she knew what it would do to Kazzok. She had to live. For him and for the tribe.

Now they watched the sunrise together. Her remaining hand closed around Mara’s. It was hard to hide her uneasiness, but she smiled when she realised the shaman at least stopped crying.

Soon voices were heard down at the camp and they knew they had to move. Rika looked at her eyes. “Ready to go?”

Mara sighed and nodded, for a second a smile was born on her face. “Thank you.” she said in the honesty of sorrow.

Rika huffed with a smile and couldn’t stand her gaze anymore. She nodded as she looked down. After a deep breath her eyes returned to Mara and she spoke once more. “You are not alone, shaman.” That was all she could say and all the truth that was needed.

Still in shame and sorrow but without tears they returned to the camp. Rika awkwardly held her pants in place. The knot was lose once again and her pants were close to slipping down. She sighed. Mara turned and saw it. The heat of shame was burning inside Rika once more as the Darkling simply approached and made a new knot to hold her pants tight. The once warrior wanted to stay silent yet she forced out some words. “I need to learn how to do it now..”

“You will.” Mara answered and looked her over. She saw how lose the leather around Rika’s chest was. “That too?”

Rika nodded. Finally she was close to tears, but openly shedding them would have only fueled the fires of shame and even there, even after she saw the shaman at her worst, she wouldn’t allow it. But slowly they started to blur her vision. Once Mara was done making a knot at the leather bands around her chest as well she saw the birth of rain in Rika’s eyes and felt how her own heart answered aching at the sight. She brought her hand to the warrior's shoulder and her forehead to hers. “You will learn.” She stated. Rika breathed out a few times and then brought her remaining arm to Mara’s shoulder. She looked at her. There was nothing to say but to nod at the shaman’s reassuring smile.

They continued to walk back and for the first time after the battle of the oak, Rika could walk with a hint of pride. She washed her face from tears, while Mara seemed far more fine in carrying them. After they entered the tent they met Kazzok inside. He was sitting on a pelt, before him a plank of wood. With trained movement he cutted dried pieces of meat and mushrooms.. Supplies they had taken from the pines.

“Took a walk?” He asked them with a grand smile, yet Rika knew him enough to see the concern in his amber eyes.

She nodded yet Mara answered. “Even the nights here are warmer than the summers at home.” She sat down next to him and took the knife she wanted to use moments ago, to now aid him in slicing the meat into snacks for the day.

He shared a look with Rika for it was the first time since the battle of the Oak that Mara sounded like this. Rika smiled at him and he returned it for a moment before he talked further. “You should visit the white wastes even south from here. No matter the season, the heat there can kill an orc.” A mixture of laughter and a grunt escaped him and she smiled.

Rika sat down next to them. She took a knife herself and a big piece of meat. She cutted pieces of it too. It wasn’t easy, but she had taken a big piece so it was staying in place on its own as she cutted.

“You should tell her about the salve on my arm.” She said distant while concentrating on cutting.

He looked at her with a raised brow, almost ready to protest for reasons unspoken, yet Rika continued as she stopped for a moment to look back at him. “Once we arrive you will be occupied. Let her help, Kazzok.”

His gaze went over to Mara who shared a look with him and he nodded. “I will once we are done.” He said and ate one of the pieces he had cut off. “We will arrive today..” he continued while eating and munching. “So not a day too late ha!”

Mara smiled to that before her mind went to the big meeting of the tribes. “Will I be a problem there?”

Kazzok stopped the cutting and gathered words for a moment before he nodded. “As much as one of our people would be in your clan.” He answered seriously after he had gulped down the dried meat. “But they will listen if you tell them about your Khan and his plans.”

“So you hope.” Rika added.

He sighed and nodded sideways. “So I hope.”